


our hearts condemn us

by missroserose



Category: The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Ear Piercings, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Power Dynamics, Toxic Masculinity, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missroserose/pseuds/missroserose
Summary: It's always dangerous to admit your fear.  When you're the new guy in Santa Carla, still waiting for a chance to prove yourself to your new friends, the results can be even more unpredictable.
Relationships: David/Michael Emerson (Lost Boys)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94
Collections: LOST BOYS





	our hearts condemn us

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on being less uptight and more prolific in my writing today. Which means this is unbeta'd as hell. Enjoy anyway :)

  
  


Paul’s laughter shrieks through the lair, achieving a pitch that somehow manages to grate on every one of Michael’s nerves. “Oh, Michael,” he crows, smug as a seagull with a stolen french fry, “whatever could be wrong? Are you chicken?” He bends his elbows and flaps his arms, making clucking noises as he waddles around on bent legs, ridiculous. “Look, Mikey, it’s you!”

Michael’s cheeks burn. He should never have admitted his fear out loud, even to Star, even in an undertone—he knows by now how ridiculously good Paul’s hearing is, especially when it comes to juicy gossip. Knows he’s the newcomer, the youngest of them. “I don’t see you lining up to get holes punched in your body,” he says, defensive.

Paul just smiles, flicks at the small dagger that dangles from his left ear. “Already been through that one, Mikey-boy. I almost cried, it hurt so bad.”

“You cry listening to Jim Morrison,” Marko puts in, from behind the nudie mag he’s been flipping through.

Paul spins to face the poster that hangs on the back wall. “Is it my fault the cruel world extinguished such talent so soon?” He falls to his knees, a parody of worship. “’Twas inevitable, for the light that burns so bright must burn twice as quickly.” A moment later, he’s up and crowing with laughter, twirling around madly, knocking things about. “Burns like Mikey-boy’s ear is going to burn under that needle!” A rusted tin cup skitters between two piles of detritus, making a racket almost as loud as Paul himself.

“Don’t listen to him.” Star puts an arm around Michael, comforting, shoring him up. “It burns a bit, yeah, but just for an hour or two—”

“What’s going on?” David appears at the back of the lair, Dwayne silently looming behind him. His tone is relaxed, his eyes half-hooded, almost lazy—but Michael knows by now that this is when he is most alert, most ready for a challenge. 

“Mikey-boy needs his mommy to hold his hand!” Paul’s rocking on the ground with laughter, now, and Michael begins to wonder with some bitterness exactly what was in the spliff he saw Paul smoking earlier.

David’s eyes flick over to Michael, to Star, holding a needle in one hand, a chunk of apple in the one that’s draped over Michael’s shoulder. Michael feels her tense—or perhaps feels himself tense, under the scrutiny. Resents it, a little, even as Paul finally starts to get his laughter under control. 

“What’s the matter, Michael?” David’s mouth curves upward, knowing, before he straightens a little, addressing the second question more to the room. “Afraid of a little prick?”

It’s a weak joke, but it sends Paul into further paroxysms, and even draws chuckles from Marko and Dwayne—that strange collective laughter that Michael still sees from them now and again, like they’re all in on a joke that he’s not yet privy to. Even though they’ve been hanging out for _weeks_.

He shrugs off Star’s arm, stands up. “I’m not afraid.”

David’s eyes snap back to Michael’s, and there’s a sudden tension in the room. Paul’s laughter abruptly quiets, Dwayne sits up a little straighter; David’s smile melts away in the space of Star’s indrawn breath.

“Then I’ll do it.” David’s tone is still light, but his posture is straight, shoulders square as he steps forward

“No,” Star says, stands up herself, behind and to Michael’s right, a mirror of Dwayne and David. “I promised him I would.”

David doesn’t answer immediately. He glances at her, at Michael, at the others. Gives a nod. “Very well. We’ll let him decide.” The flick of an eyebrow, almost too quick to be seen in the candlelight. “Who’s it going to be, Michael?”

Michael’s never been smart. Not in the way Sam is, pulling down nearly straight As in school without even trying. Not even in the way his mother is, able to ferret out people’s longings and desires and unfulfilled dreams. But he can sense the hidden currents here, knows this is about more than a piercing. Knows that he’s being baited.

Knows, even before he’s made the decision, that there’s only one way this can go.

Slowly, he turns to Star, holds out his hand for the needle and the apple. Hopes she can read the apology in his expression—but she refuses to look him in the eye, keeps her eyes cast downwards as she presses them into his hand.

When he turns back, David’s smiling again—a smile of victory, yes, but there’s something more to it. Something that sends a prickle of adrenaline up Michael’s spine. That makes him consider—briefly—turning tail and running.

But he stays. Straightens. Shows his teeth in an answering grin. Holds out the tools.

“Do your worst,” he says.

To his surprise, David comes to him, traverses the lair in measured steps. Michael can feel the tension in the air, knows even without looking that the others are rapt, watching this little drama play out. Realizes that he’s holding his breath. Forces himself to exhale, inhale, as David’s fingers brush his palm. Forces his eyes back up to meet David’s.

David’s expression is blank as he assesses Michael, eyes dark in the candlelight. His lips part, just for a moment, then he turns and moves to tarnished candelabra that sits by Star’s bedside. Holds the needle into the flame, lets it turn red-hot. 

When he turns back, Michael sucks in a breath—for a moment, a flash, David’s eyes are yellow-orange. Deep in his gut, something primal twists, tells him to flee before he’s caught—and deep in his brain, something equally fundamental tells him it’s far too late for that. But then he sees it’s only the reflection of the candle flame, deep in David’s pupils. Relaxes a fraction as David smiles—promising, almost reassuring. 

“Michael,” he hears Dwayne whisper, that haunting chant they’ve made of his name. Paul picks it up, and Marko. “Michael. Michael.”

“There’s no need to be afraid.” David holds his eyes for a moment, lets the truth of his words sink in before he steps close, holds the apple chunk behind Michael’s ear. “Just hold very...very...still.”

_Michael. Michael. Michael._ The chant is still barely more than whispered, but loud, so loud in his mind.

Michael closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe, to stand straight. Pictures those eyes, blue-hot on his, as David’s stubble brushes against his skin, as his breath mists against Michael’s neck, as the point of the needle presses against his earlobe. 

It’s over in a flash. A prick, a searing pain—a shot of adrenaline—a disconcerting _crunch_ —a gasp that could be from the pain, except for the sudden warmth deep in his gut, the heat pooling in his chest, below his waist. Except for the flash of images in his head. Blood running down his neck, David licking it up, heat against Michael’s skin. David’s tongue in his mouth, still tasting of copper and iron, the wall of the lair hard against Michael’s back as their lips press together, Michael gasping through his nose as David’s fingers slip beneath his belt, as needle-sharp teeth penetrate his lip. Michael’s own face, a little harder around the edges, a satisfied smile on his face as he stands behind David—

The chant bursts apart into cheers and whoops. Michael opens his eyes, the images dissolving as he glances around in the too-bright candlelight, half-wild with fear and adrenaline and something he can’t quite name. 

David stands before him, still smug, still perfectly, pettily human. “There,” he says. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.” He takes his own earring out. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you your own. But for now, this will do.”

It should hurt, when he leans in, pulls the needle out, replaces it with the earring. But all Michael can feel is the heat deep in his belly as David leans forward. As his fingertip brushes Michael’s earlobe. As he pulls back, a drop of ruby blood—not a stream, merely a drop—resting on his finger.

David’s eyes flick down, smile fading—then back to Michael’s. For just a moment, they regard each other; again Michael feels those currents stirring, depths that he doesn’t understand swirling beneath him, power whose source he has yet to grasp suddenly thrust in his hands.

He finds he rather likes it.

“And now you know I’ll bleed for you,” he says. He means it to sound careless, flippant—but something in the words sends a tremor through the air, invocative of something far more ancient and primal than a sleepover game between friends.

David nods once. Reaches his finger up to his lips. Holds Michael’s gaze as he licks the blood away—his eyes flutter shut for just a breath before he opens them again. “I know.”

Paul throws an arm around Michael’s shoulders, lets out an uluating cheer; Marko gives him a thumbs-up. Dwayne even comes and claps him on the back. Their camaraderie is warming, enough to distract from the sudden throbbing in his ear—but even that is nothing compared to the heat of David’s eyes, burning a brand into his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Stuck at home? Bored? Want to come yell with me about dumbass vampire punks and their homoerotic dominance games? Hit me right the hell up on [tumblr](http://missroserose.tumblr.com/)!


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